


The Longest Night

by Always_jbj



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Post Chosen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-02
Updated: 2010-09-02
Packaged: 2017-10-11 10:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Always_jbj/pseuds/Always_jbj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few years post Chosen, a prophecy is revealed, and it falls to Buffy to prevent the end of the Slayer line.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Longest Night

**Author's Note:**

> Banner made by me. Original background picture by Michael Whelan. Poem Midwinter by Bob Buehler.
> 
> My thanks, as always, to the wonderful Slaymesoftly for betaing! *HUGS*
> 
> Written December 2007

Her boots crunched through the crisp snow as she made her way up the slope to the ancient circle. A soft wind blew, chilling her to the bone, and she buried her hands in her pockets, drawing the coat closer.

She finally reached the summit and the stone circle that adorned it. _It's beautiful here_, she observed. A far cry from the heat and harshness of home; England was—soft. Everything here was gentler. Since arriving here she’d often sought and found peace in this ancient land; driving out alone into the quiet countryside that surrounded their new home. She found comfort in the musical trickle of the crystal clear stream over its time-smoothed rocks, the soft green grass that whispered in the breeze, the warm, rich brown of the earth and the soft baby blue sky that reminded her of his eyes.

She could think of worse places to die.

Her fingers absently caressed the smooth surface of the orb as she walked, and her thoughts drifted away from the pristine whiteness that surrounded her.

*****

“Buffy, you know you don’t have to do this,” Willow pleaded. “At least not now. We’ve got years...”

“And what if we wait and this spell doesn’t work?” Buffy interrupted. “What then? All these girls die because of me?” Her voice softened as she looked around the room, taking in her loved-ones’ sad, pleading faces. “I’m done. I was done five years ago. It’s their time now.” She nodded her head toward the dorms filled with girls; slayers as young as eight had been ‘called’ when Willow had performed her spell, and most of them now lived here at the new Watchers’ Council headquarters-cum-school where they studied martial arts, demon-studies and ancient languages alongside their normal schooling.

Because of her, these girls now faced a future filled with danger, uncertainty and violence.  She had sacrificed their innocence when she’d asked Willow to perform that spell; she would not sacrifice their lives in order to extend her own.

“I know you guys love me,” she assured them. “And I love you too; this doesn’t mean I don’t, or that I don’t want to be here with you but…” Her lips twisted slightly into the weary smile that never quite reached her eyes. “I’m tired. I’ve been doing this for so long. And…” _‘I miss him,’_ she continued silently.

“And?” Xander prompted quietly.

“And I can’t live with the thought that Faith and all those girls, and maybe even Dawn will die just so I can have a few more years of kicking demon butt until one day my reflexes are just that bit too slow…”

*****

The haunting cry of an owl echoed through the night, calling her mind back to the present.

She looked around for somewhere to perform the ritual. Removing the orb from her pocket, she caressed its surface once more; it should be cold but instead it seemed to generate warmth—not heat enough to keep the chill of the night at bay, just a gentle warmth like a kitten’s belly or the kiss of sun on your face on a bright Spring morning.

Removing her coat and laying it down on the snow, she placed the orb in the middle before reaching into the pockets for the rest of the ingredients. As she knelt on the soft fabric, arranging the ingredients precisely the way Willow had taught her and preparing to recite the spell that would end her life, Buffy was surprised to feel a thrill of fear race along her spine.

She’d been prepared for this night since Giles had first discovered the prophecy three months ago. More than prepared—in some way she’d been anticipating it. It wasn’t that she had a death wish, not any more. What she’d told her friends was the truth, she was simply tired. Tired of being the one who made the decisions—decisions that cost people their lives. Tired of feeling out of place, disconnected from the world she lived in. Tired of being alone—lonely. Lonely for _him_.

Dawn didn’t need her anymore; her once bratty sister was a beautiful young woman with an incredible mind, an amazing grasp of languages, an equally intelligent and none-too-shabby young man who doted on her, and a promising career ahead of her as a watcher.

The world didn’t need her anymore. Because of her, there were hundreds of slayers ranging in age from Faith down to eight years old—with more coming into their powers every day. Willow’s spell had apparently not stopped at those called on the day it was cast; all remaining potential slayers in the world came into their power on their eighth birthday. The new Council had a team of witches whose sole purpose was to track these newly chosen slayers so they could be offered a home here. Gone were the days when the Council operated in complete secrecy; a team would be dispatched immediately to explain to the girl and her parents about her calling and offer her a place here in England at the new Council school.

They had no idea if this would continue, or if only those potentials who had already been born at the time the spell was cast would be called; only time would tell. Young girls of fifteen would never again be thrust out into the world of demons to live or die with little more than basic instruction from a stodgy, indifferent watcher. SIT’s were in training until their eighteenth birthday, at which time they graduated, and were considered slayers in their own right; what they did then was entirely their decision. The graduate slayers could continue working with the council, either as in-the-field-slayers, or they could continue their studies to become watchers or trainers, or they could choose to leave and lead as normal a life as possible.

Buffy pushed away the fear that had momentarily gripped her; if she didn’t do this, all these girls, Faith, and quite likely Dawn, would die. Granted, she had five more years before the spell would take effect. Five years in which Giles could pore over every book he could get his hands on, searching desperately for an out that didn’t exist. Five more years of Willow wincing every time their eyes met. Five more years of pity on the faces of those she loved. Five more years of feeling lost, alone and out of place in a world she should no longer live in.

Willow’s resurrection spell had meant more than the death of an innocent deer. More than years of misery for the slayer ripped from her rightful rest—and for the vampire who had dared to love her. It had left a death sentence on all Buffy’s ‘descendants’; which according to Giles’ prophecy would include all slayers who followed on from her—quite possibly the end of the slayer line.

The spell, pieced together from several different Ancient Egyptian and Druidic spells and a little Willow-improvisation, required a price to be paid for the extra life granted; a price that was payable after ten years of added life. At the end of this time all the resurrected person’s descendants would die—_their_ lives claimed as payment for the unnatural continuance of a life that should have ended a decade before. The person would then be free to live a perfectly normal mortal life, have children, grow old and die a second (or in her case third) death. Or she could willingly sacrifice her life at any time before the payment became due. The sacrifice needed to be made on the Winter Solstice; traditionally the Druidic celebration of death and rebirth—Alban Arthan.

She knew her decision was hard on them—her friends, her watcher and her sister. But she knew in her heart that it was right, and postponing the decision another year_…or two, or three…_ wouldn’t make it any easier, wouldn’t help them to accept that she must once again do what needed to be done to keep the world and those she loved safe. It would be like living with a death sentence—with her friends treating her like she was made of glass while at the same time trying to pretend that everything was alright. It would simply lengthen their grieving. Better to go now and let them move on with their lives.

They’d tried to come. Once they’d realised there was no talking her out of it, they’d wanted to come—to be with her, so she wouldn’t be alone. But she’d insisted that she wanted to do this alone. She didn’t want them there. She wasn’t sure if she was trying to protect them, or if she was being selfish—maybe a little of both. So she’d made them promise that they wouldn’t come out until after sunrise.

She was a creature of the night. She who hunts vampires and occasionally falls in love with them. The Chosen One-of-Hundreds. This longest night of the year was hers.

As they often did when she was alone, her thoughts drifted to him. She could almost feel the tingles on the back of her neck that indicated not only that a vampire was nearby, but that her particular vampire was watching over her from the shadows just as he’d done so many times before—as both predator and protector.

Blinking back tears, she made a last few adjustments to the spell ingredients before settling herself comfortably in a cross-legged position. The frosty air nipped at her and she shivered, cursing her lack of foresight at not bringing a second coat or a blanket. The thought suddenly arose that she would die of hypothermia if she wasn’t careful and she laughed—not the forced or bitter laugh that she’d come to expect, but a real honest to goodness laugh. She’d forgotten that she could sound so young… happy… carefree.

When she was completely satisfied that everything was arranged as it should be, she picked the orb up once more, cupping it in her hands as she focused on its rapidly-swirling depths. She cleared her mind and began the chant that Willow had taught her.

The world shifted out of focus, everything around her becoming a blur cast over with a soft blue glow. She could still hear the sounds of the night and feel the cold bite of the winter breeze on her skin, but its chill, while acknowledged, caused her no discomfort. The chant continued. She had no idea how long she’d been sitting there, time seemed to lose all meaning as she surrendered herself to the orb’s beauty and the words that flowed through her.

*****

The night’s chill was expelled as warm arms lifted her to her feet from where she had lain face down on the soft coat. Her eyes blinked sleepily, and she looked around, taking in her surroundings. Sometime during the night snow had begun to fall once more, and fat flakes whirled through the air. Fingers brushed against her cheek, drawing her attention forwards. Her head was tilted up gently, and as she blinked once more, warm blue eyes came into focus.

“Spike?” she breathed, her voice little more than a whisper, as if she were afraid she might shatter the illusion and her love would melt away as he had so many mornings in the past.

He smiled in answer, his eyes sparkling as he leant down to brush his lips against hers. “Let’s go home,” he suggested.

“I already am,” Buffy replied, slipping her arms around his waist and burrowing briefly into his chest before pulling back, linking her hand with his, and allowing him to lead her away.

The sun rose, its golden glow lingering on the still, silent form of Heaven’s last Chosen One where it rested on the snow-covered coat, the bright rays driving away the shadows of Midwinter and bringing with it the promise of renewal and continued life.

_the end_


End file.
